The Wandering Jew — Volume 03 eBook

“M. Baleinier,” she resumed, with
touching dignity, “I hardly know what I said
to you just now. Terror, I think, made me wander;
I have again collected myself. Hear me!
I know that I am in your power; I know that nothing
can deliver me from it. Are you an implacable
enemy? or are you a friend? I am not able to
determine. Do you really apprehend, as you assure
me, that what is now eccentricity will hereafter become
madness—­or are you rather the accomplice
in some infernal machination? You alone can answer.
In spite of my boasted courage, I confess myself conquered.
Whatever is required of me—­you understand,
whatever it may be, I will subscribe to, I give you
my word and you know that I hold it sacred—­you
have therefore no longer any interest to keep me here.
If, on the contrary, you really think my reason in
danger—­and I own that you have awakened
in my mind vague, but frightful doubts—­tell
it me, and I will believe you. I am alone, at
your mercy, without friends, without counsel.
I trust myself blindly to you. I know not whether
I address myself to a deliverer or a destroyer—­but
I say to you—­here is my happiness—­here
is my life—­take it—­I have no
strength to dispute it with you!”

These touching words, full of mournful resignation
and almost hopeless reliance, gave the finishing stroke
to the indecision of M. Baleinier. Already deeply
moved by this scene, and without reflecting on the
consequences of what he was about to do, he determined
at all events to dissipate the terrible and unjust
fears with which he had inspired Adrienne. Sentiments
of remorse and pity, which now animated the physician,
were visible in his countenance.

Alas! they were too visible. The moment he approached
to take the hand of Mdlle. de Cardoville, a low but
sharp voice exclaimed from behind the wicket:
“M. Baleinier!”

“Rodin!” muttered the startled doctor
to himself; “he’s been spying on me!”

“Who calls you?” asked the lady of the
physician.

“A person that I promised to meet here this
morning.” replied he, with the utmost depression,
“to go with him to St. Mary’s Convent,
which is close at hand.”

“And what answer have you to give me?”
said Adrienne with mortal anguish.

After a moment’s solemn silence, during which
he turned his face towards the wicket, the doctor
replied, in a voice of deep emotion: “I
am—­what I have always been—­a
friend incapable of deceiving you.”

Adrienne became deadly pale. Then, extending
her hand to M. Baleinier, she said to him in a voice
that she endeavored to render calm: “Thank
you—­I will have courage—­but will
it be very long?”

“Perhaps a month. Solitude, reflection,
a proper regimen, my attentive care, may do much.
You will be allowed everything that is compatible with
your situation. Every attention will be paid you.
If this room displeases you, I will see you have another.”

“No—­this or another—­it
is of little consequence,” answered Adrienne,
with an air of the deepest dejection.